


A Glimpse of Gold

by Three_Oaks



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Benthan Week Day 1: Soulmates, F/M, First Meetings, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No Explicit Violence, Original Character(s), Tech support Benji, Warning Concerns OCs, first mission together, tagging just to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Three_Oaks/pseuds/Three_Oaks
Summary: Ethan is married to Julia, and happily retired. And also perfectly fine with the fact that he’s unlikely to ever meet his soulmate. But when he’s called to track down a missing ambassador who has becomed involved with an human trafficking ring with the help of newbie techie Benji, he finds that his life may suddenly take an unexpected path.





	A Glimpse of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Implied Rape/Non Con and references to human trafficking, but no explicit violence. I was planning on something short and fluffy. I failed.
> 
> Written for Benthan Week, with the hope of slightly contributing to a fandom which has given me more wonderful stories that I can count. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

Sometime after his thirtieth birthday, Ethan had accepted the fact that he'd never meet his soulmate. This wasn't exceptional, in of itself. There were, after all, enough possible candidates to fill a reasonably sized nation, so the chances of finding them were infinitesimal. It was a curse, in some way, knowing that there may be an ideal partner for everyone, out there. Some spent their lives looking for their soulmates, with money they didn't have, unable to let go of this very faint hope. Some it helped, knowing that they were never truly alone, that there was someone out there who would love them, unconditionally. And some, very few, found each other. It was easy to spot the lucky ones, the first thing anyone looked for when meeting someone new. Their eyes were always shining gold, making the blue, green or brown irises of the less privileged seem awfully drab in comparison. The first time he'd seen anyone with golden eyes, he'd been struck by how beautiful they were. He'd been twelve, and had just gone to pick up some eggs for his mother at the store on main street, which had just hired a new sales assistant. He'd only been able to stare, lost in the glow of her eyes. Who was she? How had she found them? The wave of longing that had washed over him, just then, was something he'd never been able to forget. 

In theory, it was easy. Cross your soulmates' eyes for the first time, and your eyes would turn gold. With the advent of telecommunication, there had been hope that the whole process would become much more efficient, but it had soon become evident that only real-life meetings had an effect. The huge gatherings that were commonly held across the country had no chance of becoming less popular. Ethan had been to one, just after coming back from the Army; he'd spent hours gazing into strangers' eyes, with the hope of seeing them suddenly illuminate. He'd known that those were about as likely to help you find your soulmate that a lottery was to make you a millionaire. And yet, he hadn't been able to quench the deception in his heart, every time the eyes stubbornly stayed black, blue, or brown. 

Ethan had then decided that there was no point wasting his life looking for someone he may never meet, and ignore the happiness he could find in front of him. His marriage with Julia wasn't perfect: they didn't always understand each other, they argued and fought. And yet, he'd never been as content. They'd learned to talk, and to listen. They had built something together that he was proud of.

Of course, leaving field duty had been a rather severe adjustment, and he'd struggled, at first. How could you live a quiet, ordinary life, when you'd seen what he had? Could he really leave it all behind, knowing that he could have helped? He'd read the papers, see the reports of deaths at the hands of terrorists or the consequences of government behaving with no regard for human lives and wonder whether he could have stopped any of them. Even just one. 

But he couldn't continue working as a field agent. He was deeply uncomfortable lying about his job when they were dating casually; continuing once they relationship was serious would be unforgivable. Moreover, it would have put Julia in the line of fire for anyone trying to get back at him. It wasn't for nothing that most IMF agents did not have much of a family life; none of them could forget what happened to some of those who took the risk. Johnson's husband had been killed a few years after he'd joined by an ex-IRA mercenary, and Ethan had been the one who had had to tell her. He still dreamed of it, sometimes. It was the last time he saw Johnson; she never came back from her compassionate leave. Soulmates or not, losing Julia like that wasn't something that he could ever risk.

So, he'd learned to live with the guilt. And after a few years, it had subsided enough that he didn't lie awake at night anymore, wondering who had died because he couldn't save them. The few missions he still went on helped, too. The IMF had guaranteed that he was the only man they trusted for especially sensitive cases, which he doubted. But as long it wasn't too frequent, it shouldn't be too much of a risk for Julia. And even though he didn't like to admit it, he missed being out there. He was really good at it, for one. He never felt as alive as running through the streets in pursuit of some international criminal or rogue agent, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. And, as ever, the guarantee that he was helping people, even saving them sometimes. Or at least that he tried.

However, that meant he had to lie to Julia, again. 

Ethan was just finishing the dishes after the evening supper when his phone rang three times, before stopping. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his vein, suddenly alert. He set down the pot he was holding, and counted the seconds. A minute. If it rang again, a minute from now, this wasn't a wrong number: it was the IMF. A minute and forty-five seconds. Fifty five second. It rang again, four times. This was it. He rushed to the door, quickly grabbing his jacket and keys. Julia was in the living room, cleaning the table. He cast a quick glance in her direction, making sure she wouldn't come this way, and retrieved the gun from its hidden compartment behind the shoe rack. 

"Julia? We don't have any dish soap left, I'm going to pick some. Need anything else?" 

He sounded relaxed, nothing in his voice hinting that he was anything more than a normal, suburban forty-something, running an errand before going to bed with his wife. And yet, the lie felt heavy in his throat. 

"All good, thanks!"

"I'll be right back." A promise he hoped to keep, desperately. And then, with a last look back inside, "I love you."

He met his contact, an agent named Lott, in the parking behind the closest Wal-Mart.

"What is it?"

Lott turned to him, a USB key in his hand. 

"Robert Curtis, the US ambassador in Kabul, has gone missing. Possible Taliban involvement, but nothing confirmed yet. Or maybe he's just on a bender. No ransom, no threats. Your plane is leaving in an hour."

"Who's in my team?"

"You're going in alone. Discretion is essential, the Secretary only trusts you in the field."

He wasn't going to be back right away, was he? Flying to Afghanistan to hunt down a missing ambassador, on his own, wasn't how he'd hoped to spend his weekend. He got the necessary information from Lott, and was ready to leave, when the other agent called his name.

"Hunt? I nearly forgot, here's your earpiece. You've got tech support, at least."

"Who is it? Berlatsky, Mitchell?"

"No, new guy. Name's Dunn. You're his first mission. You're Lancelot, he's Camelot."

He put the earpiece on. Hopefully, Dunn was competent enough to compensate his lack of experience. No team, no clues, and a newbie techie. Not ideal. He shook Lott's hand, got back into his car and called Julia.

"Hey, I just got a call. They had an emergency in Memphis, they want me to head there immediately."

"What? Can't it wait tomorrow?"

"No, it's pretty bad. Shouldn't be too long, though. I'll be back in a few days." A beat. "I'm really sorry." She sighed. 

"Well, call me when you get there, alright?"

"Yeah, of course. Love you."

"Love you too. Be careful."

He arrived in Kabul 8 hours later, directly heading to the embassy. He'd ignored the beeping of his earpiece since he'd landed. He didn't need anything right now, and he was feeling more than slightly annoyed with the entire situation. He didn't want to be in Kabul. Why couldn't they have at least found him an experienced techie? He put the earpiece in his pocket. It could wait. Curtis had left 26 hours ago, seemingly willingly and alone, which was highly against all safety protocols. He had a family back stateside, with two teenage boys and a beautiful wife, but they hadn't noticed anything strange with him in the past few days. No soulmate. Not surprising, for someone with his level of responsibility. Soulmates were considered a liability, for the very simple reason that the prospect of losing one was generally enough to convince anyone to do whatever was asked of them, no matter the consequences or the morality of their actions. Being separated from the only person that could see you for who you truly were and love you, not in spite of it but because of it- if they survived the shock, the sheer loneliness turned most mad. He couldn't fathom what it could be like; maybe he should consider himself lucky. 

It didn't take him long to track down the car Curtis had left in. He hadn't been smart enough to deactivate the tracking chip hidden under the motor, leading Ethan a few hours to the south of the city, where it lay abandoned on the side of the road. There were tires marks in the dust. Feeling slightly bad for having ignored Dunn, he reached for his earpiece and called him. As soon as he had, a voice rang through his ear, loud and anxious. And British. 

"Lancelot? Oh god, I thought you'd died when you didn't answer, I was about to send the cavalry." The sincere concern in the techie's tone redoubled the guilt in Ethan's stomach. What was he thinking? It wasn't Dunn's fault that he'd been called to Kabul. 

"No, everything's alright. Sorry about that." 

"Good, good. Happy to meet you, Lancelot." His voice was warm, with no hint of resentment. Dunn sounded nice. Maybe that mission wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"Happy to meet you too, Camelot."  
"So, what can I do for you, Lancelot?"

"Can you track those tires marks? I'm sending you the visual."

"Yes, of course, I can do that. Just give me one minute. There's this program that I wrote, uses a custom autoencoder, should optimize the running time to be logarithmic if the bloody thing would just compile... Sorry, I'm rambling, you don't care about that." 

"No problem. Just get back to me when you get it, alright?"

A few second lapsed, before Ethan let curiosity win out. 

"What's an autoencoder?"

"Oh, it's a type of neural network, it learns represent input data to reduce its dimensionality. Used a lot for image processing. " Ethan smiled at Dunn's enthusiasm. What was his first name? He'd have to ask once they didn't have to be careful what they said. "It's really cool- wait, you're sure I'm not boring you to death?" 

"On the contrary. Or are you busy? I don't want to bother you." After all, Dunn probably had better to do than chat with an agent he'd never met, who was currently standing on a dirt road at the other end of the world. 

"No, no, just waiting. The search is running, so it should only be a few minutes. How good are you with computer science, or like, general math stuff?"

"Computer science? Not great, I can code a little, but just basics. I did study engineering at one point, though."

"Oh, you're an engineer? How did you become... Sorry, not a conversation we should be having right now."

Dunn then launched into an explanation, Ethan periodically interrupting him to ask the tech to clarify some concepts. He was finding that he was starting to understand the idea, when Dunn suddenly exclaimed, "It worked! Not that I didn't believe it would, don't worry. The tires are from a Nissan Terrano, 1998 model. I'm sending you a picture."

"There's a textile factory around three miles away north, they probably have security cams at the entrance. Can you check if they caught the car?" As much as he would have liked to keep chatting with Dunn, he had a mission to do. 

By the time he'd reached the first intersection, two miles after the factory, Dunn had been able to find out that the Nissan belonged to Zahir Hamza, the owner of a less than prosperous import-export firm specializing in rare earth elements. Unfortunately, Hamza's firm didn't seem to have any computers connected to the internet, and there was little Dunn could do without physical access. After heading back to Kabul, Ethan got in touch with a few of his contacts, hoping to learn whether Hamza was involved in any known criminal activity. One of them, a woman named Nasrin Joya, called him back immediately, asking him to meet her at the Jamhuriat hospital. She was waiting for him in a storage room in the basement, her white lab coat and green hijab taking a blue hue under the cold light of the neons. Her face was somber. 

"Thank you for seeing me, Dr Joya," Ethan said. "What do you know about Hamza?" 

"People. He deals in people." Furor bled through her voice. She halted, briefly. "I don't care why you're looking after him. Just promise me you'll deal with him, and I'll tell you everything I know." 

"I'll do my best." Another promise that he hoped to keep.

Joya laughed, bitterly. 

"You know, that's what the police said. And the man from Médecin Sans Frontière. And nothing changed." 

"I'm sorry." He wished he had a better answer.

Joya sighted, and sat down on a carton of nitrile gloves.

"And what good does it do me, that you're sorry? And the girl came to me last month? Her name was Niloofar. She died. The one before that, Soraya, she will never walk again, but she was lucky. If you can call that luck."

She told him what she'd seen. What her patients had told her, and what she could see on their bodies. Ethan thanked her for the help, and Joya looked at him silently. Sadness and weariness had replaced anger in her eyes. But underneath was still the same steely gleam of resolve. 

"I have to go back. My patients are waiting on me. Wait ten minutes, then go out the door next to the laundry." 

She stood up, and headed for the door. Ethan watched her walking away. 

As he waited in the congested traffic, Ethan mulled over what Dr. Joya had told him. He ran his thumb along his jaw, tapping on the steering wheel with the other hand. He hesitated for one instant, before calling Dunn.

"Camelot? I found out what Hamza is doing."

"Already? God, you're fast. So, what's he up to?" Dunn sounded eager, determined.

Ethan took a deep breath, staring at the group of children running along the curb of the street. Dunn was probably sitting comfortably in Washington. It was his job to offer any technical support that Ethan may need, not to get involved in the details of the missions. And certainly not to listen to Ethan vent his feelings. It was his first mission, he certainly hadn't dealt with anything like that before. At least Ethan hoped so, immensely. Before he could decide whether he should hang up again, Dunn interrupted his deliberation.

"Is it that bad?" His voice was soft. And, a breath later, "Are you alright?" 

"Yes, sorry. Thank you for asking." Ethan closed his eyes, just an instant.  
Usually, he kept it at that. For most people, it was enough. But the way Dunn spoke made him believe that he did care, for some reason beyond Ethan's understanding. So, he went on.

"I've been a field agent for more than 15 years. Before that, I was in the Army. But things like that... I don't think I can ever get used to it."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"You don't have to listen to me, if you don't want to." 

"Lancelot. I might not be a field agent, but I chose this job. I'm there for you." Ethan felt the gratitude surge in his chest. He did, in fact, want to talk about it. Maybe he even needed to. It was so rare, for him, to have someone he could open up to. He maintained a civil, yet purely professional relationship with most of his colleagues, except Luther. Generally, he tried to avoid getting too friendly, which meant their talks rarely extended beyond the scope of their current missions. The risks were simply too high, as he'd learned in Prague. It still hurt, more than he liked to admit. And Julia couldn't know, ever. But with Dunn- he was away from the field, thankfully far removed from any dangers. He could tell him everything. 

"Hamza is a con man. He offers to find his client's soulmates in exchange for money. Curtis probably paid him to find his."

"But... That's not possible."

"No, it isn't. So he finds people- mostly young, desperate women-, offers them a job in his company, and dumps them to his clients. He manages to hightail before the clients notice that it's a con, and leaves their alleged soulmates pay the price. I found out from a doctor, she saw what these men do once they find out they've been deceived."

"God, that's... that's awful. How hasn't he been arrested?"

"My guess? It's hard to get people to care, when there's so much going on."

Dunn seemed to ponder for a while, before speaking again, carefully.  
"I know this isn't really your mission, but do you think we can do something about it?" Well, at least Dunn seemed to be on the same wavelength as him.

"If I were to find evidence against him while I look for Curtis, completely by chance? We could deliver it to the NATO and annoy them until they do something."

"By chance? Just give me access to one of his computers while you look for Curtis. Won't even slow you down, I promise. And I can be very annoying if I want to."

They resolved to break into Hamza's office as soon as they could: after all, they had enough suspicions that he was involved in Curtis' disappearance to justify a thorough search. Ethan hid in an abandoned building across the street shortly before midnight, waiting for the last employee to go home. 

"Not too bored, Lancelot?," Dunn asked.

"Not if you talk to me."

"Alright, what do you want to talk about?"

He wanted to ask Dunn how a British computer scientist had ended up in the IMF. Or what he did for fun. Or anything about him, in fact. This was, however, a terrible idea over an unsecured line. So, he settled for, "Could you finish explaining the autoencoder?"

"Really? You shouldn't ask that, you'll be stuck listening to me for hours." 

"I found it very interesting. And you explain well."

"Alright, no need to flatter me, I'll do it. But please scream before you pass out from boredom."

However, before he could say anything else, the sound of a car starting resonated through the empty room.

"You're in luck, Lancelot. That was the last one, you can go in."

Ethan crossed the street and picked the lock while Dunn deactivated the alarms. Once he got to Hamza's office, he plugged the drive with the tracking program Dunn had sent to him in the computer, before starting to work on breaking the safe. Just as he opened it, Dunn spoke through his earpiece.

"All done! You can take it out, I'm in his system. How's the safe going?"

"Just finished, I just need to copy everything and I'm out."

"What a perfect timing. Don't we make an awesome team?"

Ethan smiled, alone in the dark room. They did work well together. 

Ethan woke up before dawn the next day, feeling more rested than he should given how little sleep he'd had. Dunn had managed to convince him to catch a few hours of sleep while he analyzed the data from Hamza's computer, and he couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the rest. After a quick shower, he called Dunn. 

"Camelot, could you find anything useful?"

"To find Curtis? Not much. I've got proof that he paid Hamza 200'000 dollars, but that's it. Nothing indicating where Curtis could be."

"How much evidence about Hamza?"

"Enough, I think. Financial transactions, and pay sheets for the people involved. It's a pretty big organization, with recruiters in villages getting a cut for every 'soulmate'."

"Could you send me everything you've got? I'll try to see what I can find out."

"Alright, give me a second. There, you should get it in a few minutes. Call me if you find anything." 

Ethan went back to Dr. Joya, asking her for the exact date at which Soraya and Niloofar had been brought to the hospital. He then contacted as many hospitals as he could, trying to see whether any similar cases had happened in the rest of the country. It took him the whole day, a slew of inventive lies and three bribes, but he managed to find at least eight suspicious instances, mostly centered around Kabul. 

He cross-checked the dates with the financial records Dunn had sent him, hoping to see a pattern emerge. Hamza travelled frequently, and the sheer number of transactions made it hard to decipher. When he finally did, 4 hours and two pots of coffee later, he immediately reached for his phone. He had to tell Dunn.

"Camelot? I got it. It's the rooms."

"The rooms? Please, tell me exactly what the rooms say," Dunn yawned. His voice was muffled, as if he'd just gotten out of bed. Right: it was four o'clock in Washington. Kicking himself for forgetting the time lag, Ethan asked, "Sorry, did I wake you up?" 

"Not at all. I always sound like this." And, after a second yawn, "So, the rooms?"

"Hamza always get rooms in expensive hotels, except around the dates of the deals. That's because those are for his clients, not him: less upscale means less questions. He got one two days ago, when Curtis disappeared."

"You think he could still be there?"

"Unlikely, but it's worth checking out." Ethan grabbed his gun and checked his ammo. He could get there under an hour, if he managed to avoid the worst of the traffic.

"Did you just load your gun? Do you expect any hostiles?" Did Dunn sound anxious, or was Ethan's just imagining it?

"Better safe than sorry. But no, I don't think there will be anyone there."

"Alright. Could we keep in contact once you get there? Just in case, you know." Yes, Dunn was definitely anxious.

"Sure. Don't worry, it'll be fine."

"I have no doubt in your superhuman abilities. But you're my first, and if I get the great... the great Lancelot killed, it would really throw a spanner in my career plans. Plus, you're pretty fun to talk to."

"Wait, did you expect me to be a bore? Is that what people say about me?" Ethan said, a smile on his face.

"Stop fishing for compliments, you know what people say about you."

"I swear I don't. I'm retired, you know. Just a boring ex-agent." What had Dunn heard about him? At least he didn't seem to measure too badly against whatever it was.

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe that you're the best agent the IMF ever had, that you could complete any mission with both hand tied in your back? And that on top of that, you're insufferably handsome?" Vanity wasn't his worst vice, but Ethan did feel the urge to preen a little.

"Well, that's a lot of pressure. I hope I don't disappoint?"

"You're doing all right so far, Agent. Although I'll have to judge the handsome part in person, I'm afraid." 

For a few seconds, the gears in Ethan's head turned. He took in the warmth of his cheeks, the feeling of anticipation mixed with joy that filled his chest. He replayed the last minutes of their discussion in his head. Were they flirting? It sure felt like it. And he was enjoying it. Immensely, in fact. He wanted Dunn to think he was a good agent. He wanted him to think he was handsome.

But he was married, for God's sake. What the hell was he thinking? He had a job to do. He shook himself, trying to sound professional. And detached.

"I'll head to the hotel right now. I'll call you back when I get there, alright?"

"Ok, see you soon! And, Lancelot?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful, please."

After an hour and a half of driving, mostly at a pace that would shame an elderly mule, Ethan reached the hotel. It was old and run-down, with pools of dirty water accumulating in the potholes in front of the entrance. The windows were nearly opaque with dust, and there was nobody to be seen. He could understand why Hamza had picked this hotel: it was the last kind of place he would have expected Curtis to end up in. 

"Camelot? I'm there. Do you have visual?"

"Yes, I do. Good to go." Dunn sounded tense, but completely focused. Ethan suddenly realized that he had absolutely no doubt left about Dunn. He trusted him. What little nervousness he had vanishing, he left his car and went into the hotel.

There was no one at the reception, so he grabbed the ledger and checked all the clients that had arrived in the past few days. One of the names immediately stood out: it was the same alias Hamza had used in several previous transactions.

"Room 28 is on the third floor, second door left of the stairs, Lancelot."

Ethan climbed the stairs two by two, his hand on his gun. He stopped before the door, took one deep breath, and kicked it open. 

"Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot!", Curtis screamed. He was wearing nothing but pants and an old, faded t-shirt. His receding hairline did little to improve his reddish, puffed face. Ethan lowered his gun a little, clearing the room. He made sure that there was no threat, and turned back to the bed, where Curtis was still untangling himself from the sheets. Sitting next to him, her arms hugged around her knees, was a young woman. Both her eyes and Curtis' were, unsurprisingly, brown. 

"Are you hurt?", Ethan asked her in Dari. 

"I swear, I didn't do anything to her!", Curtis stammered, reaching for his trousers.

"Shut the hell up."

He turned back to the girl, put his gun away and raised his hands, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. "I'll get you back to your family, I promise. What's your name?", he said softly.

"Mariam Rahmani."

"Alright, Mariam. You're going to come with me, and I'll make sure people look after you. Camelot, can you try to find out where she's from?"

Curtis had managed to fasten his pants, and looked to the busted door with a telling look.

"Don't even think about it, Curtis. You're coming with me." Ethan caught his arm in a twist before he could even try to run, and cuffed him.

Mariam started crying softly. "They said they had a job for me, that I'd be able to help my family. I don't want to marry him."

"You don't have to marry him, I swear," said Ethan. "You won't be seeing him ever again."

"Who the fuck are you?", belted Curtis. "Do you know who I am? You won't get away with this!"

"Don't worry, I know exactly who you are. The Secretary didn't appreciate your disappearing act. I'm bringing you home, and getting her back to her family."

"You can't do that! She's my soulmate!"

"No, she isn't. Look at her eyes."

"It just needs a little bit of time to kick off, but she's mine!"

The possessiveness in his tone made Ethan want to punch him in the face. Soulmates weren't about owning the other person. They were about trust, and kindness. Things that a man that was ready to pay for the kidnapping of a woman to satisfy his ego couldn't understand. How could he delude himself in thinking that he was her equal? She deserved so much better.

"What a fucking piece of shit," said Dunn. Ethan couldn't agree more.

He emptied the room from anything that could be used to identify Curtis, making sure that Dunn had saved everything that could be used to indict him. He didn't know how, but they'd make sure Curtis paid the price for his actions. Then, he manhandled him down the stairs, Mariam following them a few meters behind. He told her to sit in the front, and threw Curtis in the back, making it very clear that he'd better not try anything. 

The drive back was even longer, and much of it was spent ignoring the various threats and insults that Curtis was throwing at him. After a while, he seemed to notice that it didn't manage to provoke him, and switched his target

"What is he saying?," asked Mariam.

"He's being very rude. I can gag him, if it bothers you."

"I could get that from his tone. What did he say?"

Ethan winced, before answering. "He called you a whore."

Without a word, she turned in her seat to face Curtis, and punched him in the face. For the first time since they'd left the hotel, Curtis was stunned into silence.  
"You lie to my mother, you kidnap me, and you call me a whore?", she screamed at him. "I'm not a whore. But you're a monster." And, turning back to Ethan, "Tell him that." Ethan was more than happy to translate, watching the stunned expression on Curtis' face being replaced by humiliation. The blood from his broken nose ran down his face onto his shirt, making him look more like a drunken brawler than an ambassador. 

"He's not my soulmate."

"No, he isn't," Ethan answered.

"And if he were, I'd kill him, even if it killed me" She was resting her head on the window, looking at the passing cars. "I'm going to go home. I'm going to find a real job. And one day, I'll meet the sweetest, kindest man, with big black eyes, and he'll be my soulmate."

"I'm sure you will. What kind of job do you want?"

"I want to be a police officer. But I have to work to get the money for the exam."

She told him more about her plans for the future, her hopes, her family. She had a little brother, with whom she liked to play soccer. She was very good at it, and she had been trying to organize a women's team for the past few months. 

When they arrived to the embassy, three CIA agents and several Department of State officials were waiting for them, having been alerted by Dunn. Ethan handed Curtis to them, ignoring his orders to have him thrown into jail. He watched as they lead him away, wishing he knew how he could make sure that he'd pay for his actions. He then called Dr. Joya, asking her to look after Mariam while he dealt with Curtis. Hopefully, she'd be home by the end of the week. As soon as she'd left, he started writing his report. He was under no illusion that the Secretary would appreciate how he'd treated the ambassador, which meant that he'd have to justify every action he'd taken. And he couldn't afford to risk his superiors finding Curtis innocent. 

About an hour later, he was interrupted by an embassy employee, telling him that there was someone that wanted to speak to him on one of the secure lines.

"Hunt? It's Dunn. How's everything on your side?" It was the first time he used his name, he noticed.

"They arrested Curtis, he'll be in a plane to Washington tomorrow morning. Mariam's with Dr. Joya, she'll make sure she gets home." 

"That's great. I got a file about Hamza to the NATO headquarter, they're putting a sting together right now. What do you think is going to happen to Curtis?"

"I'll try to convince them he should be fired, at the very least. But I doubt they'll want to deal with the scandal." Ethan ran a hand over his face. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. "Which means he'll probably reassigned to the end of the world under one pretext or another. "

"But if his name were associated to Hamza, for example after the leak of a few documents?" The question was fully innocent in tone, as if he weren't suggesting treason. It would be one way to make sure Curtis' career never recovered, but it was an enormous risk. He couldn't ask Dunn to do that.

"Then, they wouldn't have any choice. But the person leaking sensitive documents could face life in prison, or worse." 

"Only if that hypothetical person is caught. And it's not going to happen." Dunn sounded very confident.

"I trust you. But if anyone ever ask, tell them I ordered you to do it." This wouldn't be enough to let him completely off the hook, of course. But if it came to it, then he'd confess to threatening Dunn into helping him.

"And then we'll share a prison cell. As much as I'd love to, you don't have to worry. Hamza will be arrested, Curtis will be disgraced, and you can go home." Home. Back to Julia, to his quiet life as a retired agent. Why wasn't he happier about it?

"Thank you. For everything." Dunn didn't have to do what he'd done. He'd gone above and beyond, just because it was the right thing. He'd risked his career, maybe his life. 

"No problem. You were a great first assignment. But you didn't get to hear the end of my explanation about the autoencoder, I'm sure you're very disappointed."

Ethan knew that Dunn was just being sarcastic, that he didn't actually mean it. But he was, in fact, disappointed. He'd have liked to listen to Dunn talk about his program. He'd have liked telling him how he'd become an agent after an engineering major. But he had to go home.

There was a gap in the conversation, before Dunn went on, "Alright, Hunt, see you next time, maybe!"

"Wait! Just... I meant to ask, what's your first name? Sorry, it's just that you know mine, and..." Could he have asked that in an even more awkward way?

"Benjamin. You can call me Benji." He didn't sound offended, at least. Maybe a little surprised. Pleasantly, Ethan hoped.

Benji. Ethan felt the irrepressible urge to say it aloud, just to hear the sound of it in his mouth. 

"It was a pleasure working with you, Benji."

"Same for me, Ethan. Same for me." His voice was warm, and Ethan knew it was sincere.

It was ridiculous, how much he liked hearing Benji say his name. It sent shiver down his spine, made him want... want what, exactly? He hanged up before he could say anything stupid. He had to pack up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first post, and I really hope it's not too bad. I was aiming for "more entertaining than the back of a shampoo bottle", which seemed like a good first bar. Please feel free to point any mistakes out!


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